Grey
by Shipperwolf
Summary: In their world, the line between life and death can be crossed far too easily. But now he was perpetually straddling it, and she was the only one keeping him from pulling the trigger. Rating may change.
1. Prologue

**Hey friends!**

**Here is yet another result of Alamo Girl and I brainstorming about TWD and whatnot. Be advised that One: This premise has been done before, I do believe. Just wanted to try my hand. And Two: This can be considered a bit AU, as several characters that have passed in the show will be very much alive in this fic. Also, I'm ignoring the airborne theory that's been mostly proven in the series so far. **

**Hope you guys enjoy this; it may be slow to start at first, but Caryl will come into play soon!**

**And as always, I don't own TWD or affiliates.**

* * *

_The grass itself moved slowly, the wind easing across the earth as if afraid to make a sound. Clouds blotted the sky, the sun fighting its way through the puffy white as it rose to chase away every shadow that still lingered from the early hours of the morn. _

_Midday on the outskirts of a tiny Georgia town should have brought a peaceful scene of chirping birds, buzzing bees and the occasional whir of a car engine blasting down the road as the average worker sought a much-needed lunch break._

_Nothing moved._

_The town laid silent, its homes and few businesses left empty and decrepit, its people missing and its pets turned feral._

_Ten miles away, off the highway leading east from the town, a once empty field played host to a slaughter. The sun blared down upon grass stained red and black with dried blood and rotted brain matter, the stench in the air so great that even the stray dogs of the area had avoided it since daybreak._

_Decaying bodies scattered the land, pieces of flesh missing from limbs and throats, skulls blasted away and crushed violently. In the distance, still shambling across the empty road, the lucky few escapees sought a living being to target and attack, their need to feed on anything with a pulse driving beyond even the ability left in their decomposing shells._

_In the center of the field, surrounded by the destroyed dead, a body shifted._

_Face down in the grass, its head jerked to the left suddenly and stiffly, an arm moving up to dig fingers into the bloody dirt. Clothes torn and splotched with circular patterns of deep red, the figure jerked again, arms fighting the ground and legs flailing behind like electrified snakes._

_And then, an exhalation._

_The man gasped against the dirt and began to heave, sucking in air in deep gulps and grunting as he did so; his nails finally stopped digging and palms flattened against the ground beneath his body and he pushed against it, lifting his chest from the blood-soaked earth._

_Knees landed solidly but the body swayed, and for the first time since the sun had peaked above the horizon in Georgia, the man opened his eyes. Icy granite irises set in bloodshot pink orbs moved across the battlefield. His chest continued to heave, eyes wide and then narrowing, hands balled into fists and teeth chewing impulsively against his lip._

_A hand instinctively reached up and then back, slowly fingering the scabbing bite wound in his right shoulder._

_Daryl Dixon blinked at the sun and cursed._

"_Fuck."_


	2. Scabs, Screams and Bleeding Hearts

**WHOA. Okay.**

**I'd first like to apologize profusely for starting this fic and letting it hang for so long. I just lost my stuff there, for awhile. It happens. Too often.**

**Second, I want to remind you that this fic is more or less AU at this point, even more so than I'd originally intended. Please keep in mind that the "Everyone is infected" canon is being ignored here, and several of the characters who have since passed in the show are very much alive. **

**I've decided to place this fic a few months after the group flees the farm. Again, several groupmembers are still breathing.**

**I hope you continue to be patient with me and certain stories I've struggled with; I hope to get this one going in full force soon!**

* * *

_He could taste vomit in his mouth. Blood. Dirt. It all mixed together into a cocktail of disgust, making his nose wrinkle and his teeth grind. _

_Daryl stood in the field and stared at his forearm._

_A sizable bite had torn skin and flesh from just below his elbow, evidence of his raising his arm to fend off a Walker. Brown mud covered him from head to toe. Dirt mixed with old, dried blood. The bite on his arm was scabbed over, the protective covering large, thick and hard. There was similar one on his shoulder._

_Another on his right leg. Three on his left._

_Four on his stomach._

_He couldn't see his back, but he figured there were just as many there, too._

_He lowered the arm, slowly, cautiously, gauging the pain._

_He felt plenty, a burning against his skin where it pulled against the scabbing wounds as he moved. His head hurt. Pounded. The throbbing started in the back of his head when he first dared to stand, slowly made its way to the front, into his eyes._

_He blinked the blurred vision away._

_Inhaled._

_Inhaled again._

_He was breathing. Alive._

_Covered in Walker bites, surrounded by rotting corpses, alone…._

_And alive._

_And he could not, for the life of him, remember how the hell he'd gotten there._

* * *

They had stopped again.

Lori had to pee.

Carol stared out the window of the truck and blew hot breath against the glass. Watched as it fogged against the cold. Contemplated reaching up and drawing a heart like a fourteen year-old on a field trip.

They'd been driving for hours since their last stop, an old gas station in the middle of nowhere with nothing to offer but a few rolls of toilet paper from the dirty bathroom.

She watched as Glenn and Maggie got out of the SUV to escort Lori towards the woods. They were on yet another deserted highway, trying to avoid traffic jams and hoping to find somewhere, anywhere, they could call 'safe'.

They thought they'd found it several days before. An empty ghost town with a few decently intact buildings. Enough for them to hole up in for a few months, they thought. They had made the mistake of getting too comfortable too quick.

As she reached up to lay a finger against the glass, she wondered if they should have listened to Shane. He and Rick had argued again. Shane had wanted to keep moving, always moving, until they reached For Benning. Rick wanted to give up the idea of the base being secure or salvageable. They argued over everything. Especially Lori. Especially Carl.

One day, Carol feared the worst would come to the surface in both of them.

Breathing hard against the glass again, she watched it fog up and felt her lip tremble. She drew the heart, smiled grimly at her childishness.

She'd just started learning how to shoot when they lost him.

* * *

_He almost tripped over his own feet, his legs feeling weak and rubbery._

"_Goddammit."_

_He kicked a nearby Walker, fought the urge to spit on the fucking thing. His skin hurt. His head hurt. A cold breeze was blowing through and he shivered despite himself._

_Daryl couldn't remember what had happened to leave him in the field alone, bitten to hell but somehow still breathing, but he couldn't shake the tension in his muscles at the memories that fought to surface._

_He could hear the screams in his head._

_Someone screaming his name. A woman._

_Carol._

_Rick's shout reverberated in his skull and seemed to make the headache worse. _

_It was all he could get, and it pissed him the fuck off._

_Beneath his feet the earth was torn to shit. He'd stepped onto a set of deep, aging tire tracks. Whoever had created them—and he could easily guess who—had seemed in a damn hurry to speed off._

_Daryl wasn't stupid. He could put the pieces together enough to know they'd been overrun. But what he didn't know was how it had happened, who had survived, and how he was still __alive__ to even fret over it all._

_His fingers itched and for what had to be the fifteenth time since he'd woken up, he considered searching the bodies for a gun and blowing his brains out before he turned._

_Instead he steadied his feet and started walking, the torn grass and dirt under his boots leading the way._


	3. Invisible

**Next chapter up!**

**Really enjoying getting into Daryl's head in this. **

**A friendly reminder that I write notoriously short chapters, guys. I apologize in advance!**

**Hope you enjoy, please let me know how you feel so far!**

* * *

"We'll stop here for a few days if we can. Gather our bearings. Rest."

Rick shot Shane a long look as he spoke, frowning at his friend's seemingly constant shaking head.

Carol felt the familiar tension build back up between them.

"We'll be overrun again if we stop too long, you know that. We keep moving, stay ahead of the herds. We'll _never_ make it to Fort Benning at this rate." Shane snapped, his tone even but harsh.

Rick simply ignored him.

Carol had noticed it becoming a habit.

They had just crossed a bridge overlooking a river, and the water was simply too inviting to pass up. The caravan had stopped. Vehicles still parked on the highway, they'd made their way to the flowing river with dirty clothes in hand.

God knew they had plenty.

As she scrubbed the t-shirt in her hands, she could overhear Shane and Rick continuing their debate.

"Dammit, Rick, I thought you'd wised up at the farm, man. You put down the kid, and it was the smart move. Now you're—"

"What? Now I'm _what_, Shane? Allowing our clothes to get clean? Letting Lori get some much-needed rest from the road?"

"All I'm saying is…we've already lost Daryl to the herd. Because _you_ wanted to hold up in a damn ghost town."

Carol blinked and held her eyes closed for a long second. Fought the pain in them. The moment his name was spoken she tuned out Rick's response. The image of him leading the small herd away from the cars painted itself behind her eyelids every time.

* * *

_His nose itched._

_Daryl felt the sting in his nostrils long before he spotted the shambling forms of the Walkers ahead of him, some moving slowly down the highway, others trudging through the grass. _

_As he set foot on the asphalt he looked down to note the direction of the skid marks from the tires. Reaching behind him he patted his back pockets, searching for his knife._

_Nothing. _

"_Shit."_

_He stepped over another fallen corpse. Caught the glint of a smaller blade in its skull._

_Ripped it out of the eye socket just in time to see two Walkers turn at the sound of him._

_He sneered._

"_C'mon then, assholes. I ain't got all day."_

_But they did not move towards him._

_Daryl waited a good minute for the Walkers to advance, watched as they seemed to lift their heads into the air to sniff him out._

_The two dead moaned into the breeze and turned back to continue their directionless shuffling._

'_The hell?'_

_Squinting into the sunlight he grimaced at the pain that suddenly hit his head, cursed under his breath and growled in frustration._

"_Bastard geeks."_

_Picking up speed he slid behind the first of the two and jammed the blade into the back of its softening skull, easily dropping it in an instant. He saw the other one turn again at the sound._

_Daryl froze then, waiting with a sense of suspicion, watching the Walker's movements._

_Again, the geek looked at him and sniffed._

_And again, the fucker turned away and ignored him._

"_Son of a—"_

_His skin grew hot as he heard his heartbeat pound in his ears, and the headache hit him again._

_Reaching forward he grabbed the female Walker by the back of the neck and pulled it off balance, sliding the knife into the top of its head. He held it there for a moment, stared down at the suddenly still and lifeless body._

_A chill down his spine set bumps rising onto his skin when he met its dead, icy eyes._

_With a vicious rip he released the Walker's head from the blade and stomped away, listening to his own heavy breathing as he followed the empty road._

_As he passed, another Walker stood in the field nearby._

_It didn't even bother to look his way._


	4. Fire and Water

**Sorry for the lapse, guys!**

**Here is a longer (FINALLY, right?) update to this very much 'in-progress' ficcy.**

**Hope you enjoy. I'm really having epic fun with this one. :)**

* * *

_Screams in his ears. Blood in his eyes. Burning pain on his skin. It all meshed together into a living, breathing Hell, like something out of a nightmare come to drag him away and eat him alive._

_He was heaving. Shouting. His voice sounded so far away, muffled by the gunshots in the air and the high-pitched pleas over the wind. _

_His name again._

_Her voice._

_He growled into the fire that was the air around him, but his ears were deaf to his own words. The roar of engines. A dying scream among moans._

_Darkness. Blood pooled behind his eyes and blinded him. Dirt flooded his nose. Silence crept its way into his ears, consuming everything in and around him until he saw and heard and felt and __was __nothing._

_The chaos ceased; a stillness- cold and black and welcoming—grew and opened into a void and he fell into it with a sigh of relief._

_And then a jerk._

_He saw it._

_Behind his eyes, a shape. It lunged out, guttural and violent. Deep, deep red smothered its face, dripped from its lips. It sneered. It growled. It moaned. It clawed._

_It reached for him._

_He opened his eyes just in time to see the monster he had become latch its rotting fingers around his neck and squeeze._

* * *

Rick had won another debate with Shane, stifled any further argument with his trump card: Lori.

They were still by the river, several days after Rick had declared they 'stop for a breather'. Shane was livid. Lori was stressed. Rick was strangely calm.

Carol had watched them for the past few days; she saw how Rick was consistently putting his foot down and nipping every conflicting word from Shane's mouth in the bud before he could even utter them. She had made a point to help Hershel tend to Lori, offer her a shoulder to lean on and an ear to vent to.

Hershel had shown her how to take Lori's pulse the day before, and Carol found herself thankful for the lesson. She needed something to do. Something to learn. Something to distract her.

Beth was still mourning the loss of Jimmy and her mother. Maggie and Glenn had been tending to her and Carol felt guilty for not doing so herself. She should be everywhere, she felt. She should be helping. Caring.

Doing.

Not thinking.

Not dwelling.

Because when she dwelled, his face haunted her dreams.

His shout echoed in her ears.

Carol watched Shane shoo Dale away from his post on watch and snatch the rifle from the older man's grip. She frowned. A few weeks ago she probably would have ducked her head to avoid seeing the tension between the men.

Now she really and truly wanted to tell Shane off and maybe even cheer Rick on if they got into an actual fight.

The air in their temporary camp was stifling. She felt the frustration of everyone around her. It seeped into her skin and affected her every nerve.

She felt restless. Agitated.

She missed him.

Without realizing she'd begun walking, heading away from the vehicles and down to the river's edge. She caught a glimpse of Carl slipping past her, pistol in hand, and she felt his eyes follow her retreating back.

"I'm not going far, Carl…"

She didn't need to hear the words to know what he was thinking.

Without looking back she listened to his steps as he continued about his way, a cool, determined, mature air forming about the young boy. Despite herself she smiled.

At least he wasn't afraid anymore.

* * *

_He flew upright with a gasp, the sun beaming into his eyes._

_It was low._

_It was setting._

"_Shit."_

_At some point he had simply laid down in the middle of the grass by the highway and…._

_Fallen asleep?_

_No…_

_Something happened. He had passed out or something._

_Absently he reached up to run his palm flat against his throat, swallowing as he did so and feeling the clench of the muscles beneath. There was no blood. No snarling monster._

_No fucking demon-version of himself._

_He stood, feet steady and head strangely without pain. Maybe all he needed was a nap._

_As he started back down the road he swore he could hear the sound of running water._

_Swore he could smell it, even._

_And just like that, his mouth screamed in thirst._

_He needed a fucking drink._

* * *

She had walked out of view of Shane, and she knew once he noticed he'd be wound up and snarling like a vicious pitt. Lucky for her, she knew most of his focus would be on another woman in the group. And on the man she was married to.

Carol sighed and kicked another rock into the water, head shaking slowly.

It was a sad situation, Rick and his family. Everyone knew the truth now, knew that Lori could be carrying either's child. Even Carl knew…and that was saddest of all. But the boy seemed to shrug off whatever effect that particular public argument had on him, seemed to move on much faster than any of the adults involved. He had a purpose, to help protect the group. He focused on that and let his parents and Shane deal with their drama.

Lori of course had taken to venting to her, and Carol did not mind. The younger woman needed someone to talk to. Someone that wasn't a possible father to her unborn child.

As she stood on the river's edge and watched the water ripple, Carol felt her heart clench. Lori wasn't the only person who needed consoling.

But there were far more important matters to fuss over.

Voices down the river carried to her ears and she heard in them her name. Shane, or someone, had finally noticed her missing. She could hear Carl and Rick talking back and forth.

Thin-lipped she took a deep breath and cleared her frustrations. She had more important things to do than feel sorry for herself.

_Time to get a grip. He died so you could live._

She hardly had time to process that thought before a pair of arms encircled her from behind, one latching across her flailing arms and the other clamping a hand over her mouth and cutting off a would-be scream.

The earth moved out from underneath her as she was jerked off her feet and dragged into the woods.


	5. The Eyes of Death

**Sorry for the wait there, guys.**

**Here's the next chap; prepare for the beginnings of some uber-drama, and let me know how you feel so far!**

* * *

_It took five long gulps to finally stave off the sudden panicked thirst that had hit him. As he sat on his knees beside the river he thought back to the last time he'd had anything at all to drink….and realized he couldn't remember._

_Daryl stared at the rippling water, lowered his head closer to its surface. The river was dark, somewhat murky, the sandy bottom stirred up by his hands thrusting their way into it in his rush. For just a moment, he thought he could see his reflection._

_Something pale caught his eye…a bluish-grey hue that he couldn't place._

_He blinked at the water and it was gone._

_Settling forward again, his hands hit the soggy bottom and fingers sank in as he lowered his mouth to drink one more time. The cold touched his nose and he sucked up a few drops into his nostrils, not caring about the pain it caused._

_He drank, once, and swallowed with a forced gulp._

_Considered shoving his whole head into the river and leaving it there._

_Wondered just how long it would take for him to drown._

_And then he raised his head just far enough from the surface to hear it._

_The collective sounds of voices. The splash of water downriver._

_The smell of a smoking fire and gasoline fumes._

_As he stood and backed away from the bank into the woods, he swore he recognized one or two of the voices that echoed to his ears. They were loud, heated._

_Two men._

_And he knew just who they were._

_And he knew, if they were alive, if they were setting up camp by that river, he would likely find several other people he knew there as well._

_But there was only one he really cared enough to sneak towards the camp for._

* * *

The trees flew past her head. The green of leaves, the brown of bark, the blue of the sky peeking above. It all whizzed past her as she was dragged backwards faster than she could even process.

This was it. She had wandered just a step too far away from the group and her emotional need to be alone was going to get her killed.

The movement, the blur, was over before she could mentally prepare herself for death.

Carol squeezed her eyes shut when the body behind her whipped her around and shoved her against a tree. The hand over her mouth relaxed but did not leave it. The other settled against her shoulder, too soft to mean harm.

It wasn't a Walker. Walkers didn't drag people away to eat them. They just targeted and attacked.

It was a person.

A man.

She opened her eyes.

Blinked.

Closed them.

Opened them again.

It was _Daryl_.

Carol felt her jaw slacken under his palm and her eyes widen to the point of pain. The man that stood, chest heaving, cutting off her surprised gasp, pinning her against a tree and staring into her eyes like he wanted to jump inside them, was…

"Er mah Gdd,"reaching up she clawed at his wrist to pull it away from her mouth.

Daryl let it fall, eyes merely darting down briefly to follow the movement before looking back at her face.

"Daryl. Oh my God. You're…" He simply blinked at her when she said his name, his breathing still heavy and his eyes steadily narrowing at her own.

And then she noticed it.

The grey.

Stepping closer she shook her head when he tried to step back, his hand on her shoulder sliding off and his eyes widening. She reached out to run a hand behind his head. Kept him still.

Leaned in to look at those eyes while he still held them wide open.

His pupils were fine, she noticed. Not dilated. Not fogged. But the irises…

No longer that soft, pretty blue-green.

A pale grey had splotched the blue in his eyes, dulling the color and seemingly taking over. The white surrounding it was corrupted as well, edges etched with pink lightning and looking much like the eyes of a man who hadn't slept in days.

Or had cried just as long…

"What do ya see?" His whisper blew hot breath into her face, and Carol looked down to find his mouth dangerously close to her own. She noted that while dry, his lips weren't pale, or his breath tainted with the smell of rot.

Eyes darted to the scabbed-over wound on his shoulder.

Daryl was infected.

But not turned.

_How?_

"It's been days. Almost a _week_. You're still alive—"

"_What do you see?_"

She paused at the demanding rasp of his voice.

Fumbled for the words in her head.

Fingers danced in the gritty, sweat-soaked edges of the hair at the back of his neck.

Daryl waited, frozen, breaths coming in softer puffs against her face.

She opened her mouth to tell him the truth.

And then the woods burst open, and the man in front of her tore away with a curse. Carol watched as Rick, Shane, Glenn and Andrea surrounded both herself and Daryl. Her heart pounded into her ears and she saw the shocked glances they all gave each other.

Shane was the first to raise his gun.

"Carol, step back!"

_No, no, he's not—_

She felt her chest tighten when Daryl looked back at her with those grey-blue eyes.

He made no move to argue or run.

Andrea raised her gun. Glenn hesitantly followed.

"_Carol!_"

The blood in her veins seemed to rush to her head all at once and she felt the world around her spin.

Daryl was going to die.

Again.

And he didn't seem to care one damn bit.


	6. Something Broken

**Here's another update, guys! Let me know how you feel so far!**

* * *

_He wasn't sure why he'd done it._

_It would've made so much more sense to just walk into the camp, announce his existence, and let Rick and Shane decide whether or not to put a bullet in his brain. Either decision woulda been fine by him._

_He was breathing, his heart was beating…but he knew he wasn't right anymore. _

_He wasn't human._

_But as he followed the voices upriver he could see her standing alone on the bank, and he knew he had to talk to her first._

_Because if he was fuckin' honest with himself, it was Carol that cared more about his sorry ass than anyone else, and he knew she'd be the one who would want to know if he was alive or dead._

_Or a little bit of both, as it seemed to be in his case._

_So he'd made the split-second decision._

_Grabbed her and started dragging._

_He knew she was scared. _

_And when he pushed her against that tree and let her take a long, hard look at him, he knew she had every right to be._

_She __needed__ to be._

_Because he was infected. He was broken. Something was off._

_He just wasn't fucking __right__ anymore._

* * *

Daryl stepped forward into the half-circle the three raised guns had made around him. If they were gonna shoot him, it needed to be close.

She was just behind him, he remembered, backed up against that tree, heaving, upset. He wanted to grind out that she go on and walk away. Run through the woods, back to the camp, and let them blast his skull to pieces so he could forget he ever woke up to this half-dead nightmare.

So she could forget she ever saw him at all, and could go about her way without the memory of seeing his brains splattering the ground at her feet.

He wasn't afraid of death. When he thought about it, about what was happening to him and what could happen yet, it was probably necessary. But the thought of her seeing him falling to the forest floor with half a head didn't sit too well with him, and it was a damn shame that he couldn't find his voice to tell her so.

All he could do was look back at her. Find those eyes and say goodbye.

And that's when she moved.

* * *

"Carol! Jesus!"

She ignored Shane's shout as she stepped away from the tree and came to place herself between Daryl and the barrels of three guns.

The body behind her moved, Daryl's hand rushing forward to grab her arm.

She felt his fingers clench into her flesh. A sudden rush of anger at her interference. She didn't care.

"Don't do this. Just stop and look at him—"

"We _are_ lookin' at him, Carol, that's the point. He's bit._ Turning_."

Shane had lowered his gun away from her head, Glenn and Andrea already holding theirs to the side, eyeing her warily. The hand on her arm gripped tight. Pulled back.

A glance behind her found Daryl's face just over her shoulder, a snarl on his lips.

"The hell you think yer doin'?"

She opened her mouth to reply just as Rick stepped in, his silence finally breaking,

"Okay, everyone just calm down. Let's just take a second to _evaluate_ this."

Carol felt the man hovering near her, but she made no move to look back at him. Her gaze was currently being held by two silver orbs, so close to her face she felt as if she could lean forward by an inch and fall into them. As Daryl breathed his anger onto the side of her cheek she could feel the tension in the air thicken.

Shane and Rick were already going back and forth just next to them,

"Evaluate _what_? I know you're not gonna seriously stand here and try to tell me _not_ to shoot him, man."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying let's all just _calm down_ for a second and try to figure out the situation—"

"The _situation_ is this: we left Daryl in the middle of a herd of Walkers and now here he is, bit to hell, eyes glazed over like Death walkin' and I ain't about to give him the opportunity to—"

Carol ignored the fussing around them and reached out lay a palm against Daryl's forehead. He blinked at the contact, eyes narrowing in confusion and the anger on his face suddenly fizzled out. His head jerked back when she slid it down to his cheek, cupping it.

She tried not to smile at the slurry of emotions in his discolored eyes, pulling out of his grasp to turn to the arguing men,

"_No fever_." She raised her voice slightly, trying to catch their attention. There was no pause to be had in their bickering.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Glenn step forward, shoving his pistol into the back of his pants. The boy reached out to grab Rick by the shoulder, silencing the debate with a much louder repetition of her announcement.

Everyone became very still, Shane's heaving chest the greatest source of movement in the woods.

Rick eyed them a moment before breathing in deep and stepping back into their space. She did not miss the way his gun was held up slightly, the way he seemed to inch toward them to raise his free hand to Daryl's head.

Next to her she could feel him jerk again, and Carol fought the urge to reach out and run a hand along his back in consolation.

The man was probably very confused.

Hell, they all were.

Rick pulled away and met Daryl's eyes.

"Tell us what happened."

Behind him Carol saw Shane throw a hand into the air, an impatient curse on his lips.

Daryl shook his head, stepping back to slide a hand up to his scabbed shoulder,

"Don't really know. I woke up in the middle of a dead herd, bit all over. Ain't been feverin', but I don't feel right."

Carol pulled away from the men to offer space, and Rick glanced at her appreciatively before ducking his head to keep contact with Daryl's wandering eyes.

"What do you mean?"

His head was shaking, slowly. She watched as he backed up, towards the tree he'd pushed her into just moments before.

Daryl glanced at her. Lifted a hand to dig the heel of his palm into an eye and rub at it.

Shook his head again.

Rick followed him to invade his space. Clamped a hand on Daryl's good shoulder.

Ducked his head lower.

Carol noted how it always seemed to get Daryl's attention.

"Daryl. _What do you mean_?"

The two men locked eyes and Daryl squinted at him.

"I don't know."

Beside her Carol could see Shane and Andrea grip their guns, half-lifted. Shane was shaking his head, a sarcastic smile on his lips. Glenn seemed relaxed but cautious. She wondered suddenly what would have happened had Rick not been among them when they stumbled onto her and Daryl like they did...wondered if they'd even be having this discussion.

When a second or two of silence passed them by, she sighed and stepped back up to them, laying a hand on Rick's arm.

"Maybe we should take him to Hershel…"

A familiar huff sounded the moment the words left her mouth.

"Of course. Let's do _that_, Carol. Let's march an infected man right on into a camp with a pregnant woman so an old veterinarian can try to tell if he's gonna turn or not. Let's just do that—"

"Shane." Andrea cut the man's rant off, surprising Carol. The younger woman hadn't spoken a word so far and Carol was honestly starting to think she simply wanted to do away with Daryl as much as Shane did.

Glenn stepped forward and nodded at her,

"Maybe we should. I mean, look…it's been what, a week? Most people turn within hours, right? I think we should at least ask Hershel's opinion."

Rick nodded and Carol smiled. Relief washed over her like a warm blanket and she was thankful that the majority of those present had voices of reason.

As Rick patted Daryl's shoulder she looked up to find those steely eyes looking down at her.

Her smile faded when she recognized something behind the simmering anger he was pointedly shooting her way:

Fear.


	7. Dying Miracles

**YIKES at the long delay. This chapter's a bit short, but more to come soon!**

* * *

His legs were going numb.

Daryl fidgeted on the edge of the truck bed, feeling more like a kid getting his first pre-booster check up than a half-dead man getting a once-over by a vet.

Hershel'd been over the basics, as far as he knew: A dying flashlight was shined into his eyes about five separate times, he'd been asked to rotate every extension attached by joints and rate pain, had a goddamn _stick_ knocked against his knees, an ancient-looking thermometer stuck under his tongue—_twice_, and every possible doctor-ey question the old man could ask him was asked.

By the time they were done the sun was trying to set behind them, and Daryl felt the chill in the air bite at his skin.

He shivered.

"You still react to temperature change normally, from the looks of it. Core temp's pretty stable."

Hershel backed away from his place in front of him (the old man had practically been standing _between his knees_ for hours) and seemed to nod to himself. It was a slow nod, one that Daryl knew meant the old timer was still studying on what to make of it all.

He didn't expect Hershel to give him the old doctor routine and come out of it with all the answers.

None of them did.

Even as the vet reached _once again_ for the flashlight Daryl could not help but want to ask them why the hell they were even bothering.

What could they say to him, anyway, aside from '_You're infected but not dead but you already knew that'_?

It didn't help that his entire time on the tailgate had been observed by more than one of the group members at any certain point in time, as Shane seemed to shepherd them about the campsite, trying to keep things going as normally as possible. The smells of cooking food reached his nose and he figured it was important to mention that his stomach was growling in response…

"You hungry?" the voice behind him did not surprise him in the least. Carol had taken a position on the hood of the truck from minute one, watching him in silence like some kind of goddamn guardian.

He blinked and looked back at her briefly, met her eyes and saw that knowing look she'd come to giving him back on the farm. As if she always knew what he was thinking.

As if she always knew just what he needed and when he needed it.

He looked away.

He needed Carol to mother him like he needed a fucking bullet to his-

"Well_ shit_."

"What's that?" Hershel was giving his pulse one last check when Daryl bent his head down and whispered to himself, head shaking, another ache starting to pound its way into his temples. He felt restless.

And exhausted.

"Nothin'."

Daryl looked up just in time to see Rick stride across the camp to them, leaving Shane to serve Lori her dinner. He caught the way Rick shot a glance back over his shoulder, catching Shane's eyes and whatever message was sent between them, Daryl knew it wasn't a pleasant one.

Shane's lip curled before he looked away.

Something in Daryl's chest tightened, an anxiety worming its way into his muscles. He had a feeling that Shane was none-too-happy with Rick letting an infected man into the camp, and even more gut-clenching, he knew that sometime soon, it'd come to a head. And it wouldn't be pretty.

Call it instinct. He knew it well.

"So? What's the word?" Rick sidled up to the truck and cast a glance upward to Carol before settling his attention on Hershel.

A swift pat against his shoulder told Daryl two things:

One: Rick wasn't counting him out yet…not in the least.

And Two: He didn't want Daryl to either.

_About two days too late on that one._

Hershel turned his back on Daryl for the first time in what had to be two hours, fidgeting with the flashlight.

"I can only tell you what I know, and that's that Daryl is infected…"

_Called it. Keep it comin', Doc._

"….but is somehow fighting the infection. Like I said, I can't tell you how. Because I don't know. There's no way _to_ know without an entire medical facility to run tests. But he's breathing, his vitals are normal, and so far there's been no sign of fever. If I still believed in miracles…."

_No._

Daryl tuned the old man out and felt his teeth grind.

Chanced a look over his shoulder to find Carol sitting rigid, peering down at him with a fretful brow.

He felt nauseous.

No. He didn't want to hear Hershel and Rick try to call whatever was happening to him a fucking "miracle". There were no miracles in this world, as far he was concerned. If there had been once, the infection had done away with them just as thoroughly as it'd killed the world itself.

He wasn't a miracle. They'd had plenty of chances for one in the past, and God- if He existed- had seen to it to keep them to Himself.

Surviving at the CDC would have been a miracle.

Getting to Fort Benning their first time around would have been a miracle.

_Finding Sophia alive _would have been a miracle…

Carol was sliding from her perch above him, landing softly on the bed of the truck to come crouch beside him. She smiled. Tilted her head to try and meet his eyes.

He breathed deep.

She smelled like water.

And just like that, he was thirsty again.

Daryl saw her mouth open to speak to him and he turned away. Jumped down from the tailgate to lay a hand on Rick's shoulder.

"We got anything left to eat? I'm starvin'."

He didn't look back to see her frown.


	8. The Silent Swell

**Another update, another twist and turn in this..._thingy_ I'm doing.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

He hadn't spoken to her in two days.

Carol tried not to be bothered by it; after all, Daryl had enough to deal with without her being paranoid and bugging him over something trivial. The group as a whole seemed to either avoid or watch him carefully, Shane in particular always hovering, always staring, as if waiting for the proof he needed that Daryl would turn on them at any moment.

Lori kept Carl close, eyes sympathetic but wary.

Two nights in a row Dale had kindly rejected Daryl's offer to relieve him of watch duty, and on the second night Rick and Hershel had been there to strongly suggest against it anyway.

"_You're still complaining of the headaches. What we need you to do is _rest_, Daryl."_

Carol caught the growing frustration on his face, the fretful chewing of his lip and the way his eyes darted about the camp: restless, uncertain, annoyed. She stole glances at him when she cooked, because it was the only time he ever came close enough to her for her to do so.

When she smiled at him he nodded in silence. Broke that foggy gaze of his from her own and looked down, or up, or to the side.

Anywhere but _at_ her.

She took it in stride. She'd been through it before with him, back on the farm, and she knew by now that with Daryl Dixon, these things took time. She suspected why he was giving her the silent treatment, but she wouldn't take it back now.

He was with them. Alive. She couldn't bring herself to regret that.

And so she let him fume, let him think, let him linger in and out of her space at his own leisure.

By the time they were getting ready to pack it up and move on to a new location, she'd gotten used to it.

So it was a pleasant surprise when Daryl told Rick he'd ride with her and T-Dog. She said nothing as he helped chunk their belongings into the back of the truck. She said nothing when they all climbed into the cramped one-seater together, T in the driver's side and Daryl on the passenger's, with herself practically wedging in between them.

For hours they drove, into and through the night, heading south, and if Carol didn't know any better, she'd swear Shane was trying to lead the caravan closer and closer towards Fort Benning.

All the while both men were silent, T focusing on the road, muscles tense and alert beside her. Daryl shifted several times, head leaning back against the headrest, sometimes tilting to thump against the glass of the window. His arm rubbed against hers every time he moved and she could hear him exhale heavily every time.

He never spoke, and she never dared look over at him.

But she knew he kept turning his head to glance at her nonetheless.

* * *

She figured Rick finally got tired of Shane's sneaky directing because sunrise found them all halting abruptly on a highway in the middle of nowhere, every driver of every vehicle getting out to come gather in a circle in the morning mist.

She'd dozed off some time in the night, and it was the slam of T-Dog's door that woke her. As the sun grew red on the horizon it glinted against the windshield, flashing into her eyes. She squinted, felt movement beside her…glanced over to find Daryl blinking down at her.

For a moment he simply sat, quietly straightening in the seat and staring. She probably looked a mess, hair matted in the back and eyes heavy and dark from not-quite-enough sleep. She yawned, and for half-a-second in time thought she a ghost of a smirk reach his lips.

And then those sharp eyes narrowed, his jaw set, and he grunted.

Rubbed against her one last time as he opened his door and slid out without a word.

* * *

Rick called another break from driving, much to Shane's growing rage. The man's face grew red and his eyes wild, watching the group leader turn his back on him time and time again to ignore his protests.

Carol knew what Rick was up to. He'd picked up on Shane's attempts to direct the lot of them to the Army base and was stalling for time. Shane knew it too. And with another glare and another muttered curse and another swift kick at the nearest car, the tension in the camp grew even thicker.

Breakfast found them all tired and frustrated.

And hungry.

Carol and Maggie focused on getting enough preserved foods from the farm heated up to feed everyone, while T and Glenn broke off to scout the nearby woods.

Shane and Andrea leaned against the SUV and talked in hushed tones, watched by both Dale and Rick from opposite ends of the caravan. Carl and Beth looked on as Hershel checked up on both Daryl and Lori's conditions.

Carol could not help but overhear when Daryl confirmed another headache, and Hershel promptly pointed him to a comfortable spot to rest. She heard Daryl grumble at the order but wander away despite it.

She finished cooking quickly, spooned some bland oatmeal and blackberry preserves into a bowl and boldly crossed the campsite to where Daryl had plopped down against a fallen tree. She smiled at him as she approached.

Daryl blinked at her once, reaching out to take the bowl with a nod.

She watched him take a bite, then another, and breathed deep when he glanced up to find her still standing over him.

"Maybe eating something filling will help ease the headache?"

He shrugged, tilted his head and she saw his eyes crease slightly. He was wincing.

Pain.

"Maybe." He spoke. Just a murmur, but better than nothing.

And then he froze. Carol felt her face fall, her brow furrow as Daryl suddenly grew very still and very rigid.

"Daryl?"

Kneeling down in front of him she looked him over. He stared past her, through her, his eyes suddenly hazy and distant. His hand held the spoon just over the bowl, frozen in its journey for another bite. He didn't blink.

He didn't seem to breathe.

"_Daryl?_" She reached out, leaned in close to his face and laid a hand against his cheek. His pupils dilated and she heard a breath wheeze in his chest just before his body broke into a frenzy of movement.

Carol couldn't stop the scream that escaped her throat as Daryl dropped the bowl to the ground and pitched sideways, chest heaving in and out, limbs flailing in every direction but normal. His head jerked backwards and his eyes rolled.

She could do nothing but drop to her knees beside him and scream for help.

If there was any to be had.


	9. The Creeping Black

**_ Another healthy dose of angst for you guys-because that's the way to show love, right? _**

**_Right. ;)_**

* * *

_He remembered being underground, remembered standing away from everyone else as they all stared up at a large screen, realizing the truth of what was happening to the human race._

_He remembered the brain, the human skull, the mouth gasping, the head thrashing._

_Little Sophia making a noise not far from him._

_He remembered feeling no fear when the black started to creep up the spine, slithering its way like worms through dirt, farther and farther into the dancing, sparkling activity that was the living woman they watched._

_He felt only disgust at what was happening to her, a small twinge of pity registering before the fearful movements and sounds of the others buried it all in annoyance. The image of the dying brain lingered for only a short time, as Daryl was never one to dwell on anything. _

_He moved on._

_It was what is was, now. The virus that would eventually kill them all._

_Something to avoid and evade for as long as possible, even if surviving a dying world didn't really make much sense in the end._

* * *

_She never left him alone, even when he wanted her to._

_He'd gotten so used to it that by the time she brought him the food he couldn't bring himself to feel frustration or resentment. _

_She wanted him to talk to her._

_He wasn't stupid enough not to realize it was because she _cared_, but that idea alone made him want to laugh and ask her just how desperate she was for decent company, for a friend, for…_

_The food felt good going down. He hadn't even realized he was hungry. His tongue was on the verge of muttering out a 'thank you' when everything in the world seemed to stop moving and freeze solid around him._

_The figure in front of him blurred._

_He couldn't feel his hands. Or his feet. Or anything else._

_A creeping tickle coursed through his entire body, as if his blood was turning around in his veins and flowing in the wrong direction. His heart seemed to pound in his ears, just once; just one, loud, drum-like beat before his blurring eyes rolled back and he and Carol and everything else simply stopped existing altogether._

* * *

Something cool slid across his cheek. A light whisper near him had him both stirring and wanting to lull back into whatever deep snoring slumber he'd apparently fallen into.

Daryl cracked his eyes open to find the flicker of a fire in sight, several feet away, shadowed by the woman sitting just next to him. Her face was blurry but he could make out the short hair, hear clear as day her relieved sigh and half-laugh as she announced him to the world like a damn newborn.

"The hell you so thrilled about? Was just sleepin'—"he stopped when his eyes focused and he caught her worried frown, the glisten of tears painting lines down her face. He tried to sit up, ask her what had happened (ask her who the hell had _died_) when the memory of the dying brain slammed into him like a driverless semi, sending a shudder up his spine and reminding him of what exactly had occurred that morning during breakfast.

Daryl lay propped up on his elbows and held Carol's fretful, shining eyes, and he cursed himself and every Walker that trudged brainlessly across the earth for putting her through something like this….

Again.

He wanted to apologize. But for what? For being bitten? For not speaking to her? For passing-the-fuck out in front of her?

For not acknowledging that she cared about him, and not telling her he cared too?

His mouth opened, but the words caught in his throat just as Rick and Hershel came rushing to his side.

Daryl sighed heavily when Carol pulled back from him and wandered out of his sight, making room for the others to come make a fuss over him.

Behind Rick's bending back he could see her maneuver past a leering Shane, who loomed like a sneering shadow as he watched in silence. Daryl caught the man's gaze and saw the panic in them, the desperation. The killer instinct of a man in defense-mode.

"Daryl, how're you feelin'?" The shining black of Shane's eyes disappeared as Hershel leaned over him.

He felt bile in his throat as he chuckled and lay back.

"About as good as I look…"

* * *

He'd slept.

It was still dark when his eyes popped open again, the fire dying into embers as everyone dozed in vehicles and tents nearby. Daryl sat up, reached down to rub against one of the scabs on his leg.

It was smaller.

Healing.

_Goddamn_.

His eyes adjusted quick enough to make out Glenn on watch duty, standing in the bed of a truck, still and silent, a rifle on his shoulder. The boy moved to look down as he caught Daryl's shifting, and seemed to stare across the dying fire at him for several long moments before raising a hand in a quick wave.

Daryl jerked a nod in return, stood stiffly for the first time in over twelve hours.

Whispers of the earlier conversation echoed in his ears, renewing his confusion, solidifying his frustration…

"_It was a seizure, sure enough. A bad one. I'm honestly shocked you woke up this soon."_

"_What's it mean? His seizing up like that?"_

"_I can't say for sure. Can't anything for sure. But my guess is his brain is trying to withstand it…."_

"…_.The virus?"_

"_I'm _right here_, goddammit. Stop talkin' over me like I can't hear ya."_

"…_Sorry…."_

It was too much.

He'd thought, for just a moment- as he'd sat there eating, considering a proper show of gratitude to the woman who always seemed to take care of him—that maybe, somehow, he was in the clear. That by some freak of natural occurrence he was going to be….

And then this.

His brain was fighting a fucking battle in his head and he couldn't even command the pieces.

He smiled to himself, head shaking.

"Freak" was the word of the day.

* * *

The sun was trying to peak over the horizon.

Another day of being stuck in Walker-limbo, another day of "if and when", of worried glances and threatening glares.

Daryl spat at the ground and leaned against the truck, looking through its window at the sleeping woman curled sitting up inside. T-Dog snored beside her, head pressing into the opposite window.

Daryl pushed away the sinking feeling in his gut at the sight of them huddled asleep together and went back to watching the sun fight its way through the darkness.

Movement caught his ears behind him, and he knew without looking that she was stirring. His shifting against the truck probably didn't help. He didn't care. Part of him wanted to wake her up.

Part of him already knew she would do so before anyone else.

He moved from the door to let her open it, startling T awake with the loud creak the old hinges made. She slid out, bare feet landing in the grass and the sleepy haze of her eyes was rubbed away, polished into two sharp, striking blue orbs.

Daryl held them in his own and said nothing when she smiled at him.

She was relieved.

He felt a scowl coming.

A breeze blew through the caravan, and Carol reached up to hold herself against the chill. Winter would hit them hard and fast.

The cold didn't bother him as much as the steady, hopeful gaze Carol set on him.

Stepping into her space he ignored the stirring T-Dog inside the truck and reached out lay a hand against one of Carol's arms. Chill bumps prickled at his palm and he moved it, grazing each bristle in a slow caress that seemed to make her shiver more than warm her up.

Daryl felt her breath hitch and he leaned in, wrapped his fingers around the flesh beneath them and tugged forward just enough to see her eyes flash with worry and darken with….something else.

His teeth were trying to grind together as he squeezed her arm and growled low,

"You shoulda just let them _shoot_ me."


	10. Lulling Smiles

**Heya guys,**

**Sorry for the wait; here's a bit of a break in the angstfest that is this fic.**

**More breaks to come...maybe? I don't know, it's angst. It sneaks in there whenever it wants ;)**

* * *

_It was lulling._

_The pitter-patter in repetition, the drip-drop that started slow and just grew and grew in speed until the bottom fell out, metallic clinking echoing all around them for hours on end._

_They huddled in the half-light, voices and breathing muted and the fog of sleep coming over them all like a fine mist._

_It was silent, the lull._

_Spectral._

_Seductive._

_Grey._

_He slept._

* * *

It rained for days.

They'd found shelter in the form of an old abandoned farmhouse, wooden walls half-rotted and metal roof rusting out, tucked away behind a barbed-wire fence off a muddy dirt road. The two walkers sitting pretty within were done away with easy enough, although Daryl himself never got the chance to pitch in.

He never did, anymore.

Too dangerous, they said.

The seizures could start back, they said.

And so he slept…

Slept during the day, slept during the night, slept in the middle of meals…

A mild case of "narcolepsy", Hershel called it. Chalked it up to whatever the fuck was going on with his brain…

It didn't matter. All Daryl knew was that he could spend a few hours at a time feeling perfectly normal, energetic, and willing to do whatever it was that needed to be done around camp, and then _bam, _out like a light hit with a slingshot.

This of course had half the group even more on edge, wary of his capabilities and unwilling to offer him anything to do with his time but "rest".

He even heard the words from Rick once or twice, when a headache would flare up or the fog of sleep would send his head swimming.

He wasn't stupid. He knew they were afraid for him.

What bothered him more was that it seemed some were also afraid _of_ him…

And that chances were, they were right to be.

* * *

After two days they finally got a break from the damn storms, and Shane all but hustled outside to start doing perimeter checks. Lori headed out to stretch her back, Andrea close behind.

Daryl stepped out into the muck that was the old shack's former 'yard'. Rick hovered just by his shoulder, eyes darting around them before gazing up at the sky.

"Front's not passed by completely yet. We might have a few hours maybe before the rain starts back up." Daryl nodded, craning his head from side to side in an attempt to make his neck pop.

Rick nudged his arm, "Gonna walk around, see if I can meet Shane halfway. He took off without another set of eyes. Tell the others they can take some time to stretch out or get cleaned up…"

Daryl felt his chest loosen, relieved that Rick hadn't advised him to "rest". He was getting damn sick of that word.

"Got it."

Even still, as he watched Rick walk off into the woods nearby, he knew that's what the man probably expected him to do.

Tell the others to get cleaned up.

And then rest.

He felt a growl bubble in his throat. He pushed it down, sighed and dug a boot into the mud. The squishing sound it made would have amused him if he weren't already annoyed for the day.

And then Lori's shout filled the air.

* * *

The low moan that followed Lori and Andrea's sprint around the side of the building gave him an instant headache, and the pain jolted him to action.

He reached back for his bow, whipping around to face the four—five—_fuck_—six Walkers scraping their way along the wood of the house. When his hand met air he soberly remembered that his crossbow was gone—left behind-never to hang along his spine again.

Andrea was the first to start shooting, and in the echo of the shot he could hear Rick and Shane shout towards them…

Both were, of course, shouting Lori's name.

He reached for the knife at his side, crouching to pounce on a nearby Walker.

Another meandered out of the forest behind it…

And then another…

"Godammit!"

Flying foward he slammed the blade through the Walker's eye, dropping the decaying woman instantly. The dead teenager behind it looked his way and paused, for just a second, before turning to the sound of the shack's door creaking open.

Daryl grimaced as Dale stepped outside with his rifle, Carol coming up behind with the pistol Rick had given her to learn to shoot with.

By the time she raised the weapon Rick and Shane were helping to surround the remaining dead and take them out. Daryl took a long step back, knife lowering. He watched with a frown as Carol aimed with both eyes open and fired at the Walker closest to her, stance off and unsure.

The shot hit the dead man in the face, blowing off its jaw. It fell, jerked about, and started working its way back to its feet. Rick interrupted the attempt with a final pull of the trigger, and suddenly, everything around them went silent.

Daryl breathed deep, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. If he could focus he would know his eyes were wide, his jaw tight and muscles clenched in anticipation. If he could focus he would know that Rick was already calling for the group to pack up, for them to get back on the road and very probably spend the rest of the coming rain holed up in their vehicles.

But all he could see was the blurry image of Carol placing the safety back on her gun, and all he could hear was his own quick breaths.

He stepped forward, once, twice, and met the outer wall of the old house.

Leaned against it and squeezed his eyes shut.

Willed the annoying headache away.

* * *

The sun was setting when the clouds re-gathered and thunder sounded the return of the rain. Daryl crossed his arms, leaned back into the corner created by the truck door and the seat, stretching his legs as far as he could manage across the floorboard.

The familiar ping of rain on metal met his ears just as the driver's side door opened.

Carol slid in, a few drops of water clinging to her hair and sliding down her cheek.

He felt his back stiffen at the wary smile she shot him, and she motioned to the windshield,

"We're just gonna wait it out at this point. Hopefully the weather will go ahead and clear up soon."

He nodded, mostly to himself, before noticing the absence of their usual resident T-Dog.

"T comin'?"

Carol shook her head, shrugging.

"He's taking first watch. Dale lent him his umbrella."

Daryl blinked, the remnants of the headache teasing him as he struggled to remember that yes, Dale _had_ snatched an umbrella from a store they raided a few weeks back…

Just after they left the farm.

He grunted in response and pulled his eyes away from the woman who sat close enough to him to offer warmth to the air between them, and tried to focus his attention on the lulling rain outside.

A few minutes of awkward silence passed and he closed his eyes, finding, for the first time in days, a difficult time in getting to sleep.

Teeth set onto his lip, and he leaned his head back into the corner and opened his eyes again when he heard her shift.

She had tucked her feet halfway under her butt, and was leaning her head against the glass of her window. She was still, quiet.

It bothered him and he didn't even know why.

"Hey."

She seemed to loosen a bit at the sound of his voice, and he found himself relieved when she smiled his way.

"I'm guessin' Shane ain't been bothering to help you with your shootin', has he."

She seemed to grimace a bit before chuckling to herself, head shaking.

"That bad?"

He grinned, felt the tension in his face pull and let go and pull again as he did so.

"Ain't horrible, but…ya need some practice. Preferably when people aren't runnin' around shoutin' and shootin' and distracting you. Just to get yer stance and aim perfected."

She nodded, scratched at a bug bite near her ankle.

"Yeah. Rick and Shane…they've been pretty busy trying to figure out which move to make next—"

"Pfft. From the looks of it they been pretty busy tearin' into each other and not gettin' anywhere."

And he was right. Rick was stubbornly shoving off Shane's suggestions while Shane argued every point Rick tried to make.

And it was getting them everywhere but somewhere.

Not that his opinion mattered….

Especially now.

"When the rain clears out…maybe you could help me?"

She didn't whisper. She didn't squeak. Carol asked him, loud and clear, and sat a foot from him waiting patiently for an answer.

Daryl blinked over at her and nodded, once.

"Sure. We'll pick things back up when the sun comes out. Maybe tomorra'."

She smiled again and he felt a yawn sneak up on him.

He'd been planning on it anyway.


	11. Rot

**Sorry for yet another long delay! Here's some more angst. I really hope you guys like angst.  
**

* * *

_The green had given way to brown, the field spread wide and cloaked in wintery death. _

_The hay bales had fallen apart with time, sinking and rotting, adding to the dull tone of the already depressing scene._

_A lone building stood erect in the middle of the vast opening, once a home to the hay that would serve farmers and ranchers that lived nearby, now a dark and lonely reminder of a world that no longer supported such agricultural systems._

_Instead, it would shield desperate travelers from the rain and wind. _

_It would stand witness as they came together._

_And as they fell apart._

* * *

"Ya gotta keep straight. Take yer time to aim, but not so long that yer arms get tired and give way. That's the problem, I think."

Carol struggled to listen to what Daryl was telling her, tried to block out the way his breath ghosting across her cheek sent shills down her spine and bumps rising on her arms.

Tried to tell herself it was the cold breeze blowing across the field, and that Daryl was trying to _teach_ her something, and she should damn well pay attention.

They stood together in the middle of the field, using an old wooden fence to help her perfect her aim.

An hour ago it had finally stopped raining, the sun came out as midday approached and Daryl had scarfed down his lunch quickly and seemed to watch her intently as she did the same, before he led her out away from the others to continue the shooting practice he'd started with her a few short weeks ago…

Before the herd.

Before he'd been infected.

She'd started out propping herself against the fence, shooting at the remnants of a hay bale. Her aim was just fine with the wooden support under her arms, deadly enough for Daryl's satisfaction.

So he'd moved her back, away from the fence, to stand in the middle and shoot at the wood instead.

She was struggling.

Her arms had gained a bit of muscle from necessary lifting since the End began, but she wasn't used to the strain of holding a heavy rifle for long periods of time. But she tried. She toted the damn thing around with her as often as Rick would allow, as she seemed to be sharing her gun with the likes of T-Dog, Hershel and sometimes Shane.

"Ya listening?"

Another hot puff against her ear sent Carol jumping slightly, and she became suddenly aware of warm fingers clenching in response on her body. One of Daryl's hands had found its way to her shoulder, pulling it back a bit as the other slipped beneath her arm to help support the weight of the gun.

Blinking to the side at him, she nodded.

"Yeah, I heard you. Keep straight. Don't linger on the aim too long."

Steel-colored eyes seemed to crease and then soften as he stared at her, and another breeze blew across the field to send a shudder through her body.

His hands tightened again, and he drew closer, coming to stand behind her and he exhaled heavily against her neck,

"See if you can hit the top of the post there. Take a breath first. Relax."

Carol ignored the urge to sink back into his chest and straightened instead, encouraged by his hands supporting her. His hand brushed hers as he seemed to lift and hold the gun with her, and she aimed at the point he'd indicated, the top edge of one of the fence's supportive posts. She breathed, deep, steady, and felt his chest rise and fall almost in rhythm with her own.

She exhaled.

Inhaled.

And Daryl let go as she pulled on the trigger.

The gun kicked a bit into her shoulder, furthering the bruise she would probably suffer later, but she pushed the ache away and focused on the hole in the post with a smile.

Daryl stepped into her field of view, peering at her approvingly.

"Better. Now try again without my help…"

He trailed, eyes moving slowly to the side as he seemed to follow something behind her. They narrowed, his lips tightened, his body went rigid, and for a moment, Carol worried he'd drop to the ground and start convulsing.

"Hey!"

The shout that sounded behind had her whirling to find Shane stomping their way from the old hay loft they'd holed up in for the day, shotgun in hand and a nasty glare in his eye.

She sighed as she caught Rick slowly stepping from the darkness of the building, suddenly alert, his head shaking as he began following Shane's steps to catch up to him.

But it was too late.

Daryl was already squaring his shoulders, stepping in front of her with a snarl on his lips.

Shane threw a hand into the air as he approached, gesturing to the fence while jerking his head her way,

"Ya'll been out here for an hour shootin' away at nothing, wastin' ammo and puttin' us all in danger, including yourselves—"

"Ain't yer business, but I rationed out the rounds and Rick helped me do it…"

Carol watched, alert and ready to intervene, as Shane shook his head and glanced back at Rick's figure moving through the grass towards them,

"We don't ration rounds for practice. Not right now. Maybe you've been too busy fallin' in and out of a Walker coma, but we got _herds_ on our asses almost every day, and we need every bullet we got."

Daryl stepped forward as Shane refocused on her,

"You wanna fight, Carol, and that's fine, we can sure use the help, but ya either stick to a handgun or keep to a machete, okay?"

Daryl's shoulders seemed to ripple with energy as he followed Shane's moving body, and she calmly reached out to still him as she rebutted,

"I've already practiced a bit with the pistol today. I really need to get the rifle down, and we're about done."

Shane blinked darkly at her, a wicked smile quirking in his lips.

He shook his head at her, raised a hand to motion at the gun in her hands,

"Look, lemme tell you—"

Daryl lashed forward as Shane stepped close, reaching out to shove at the man's shoulder,

"Ya ain't tellin' her _shit_, now back off!"

Carol sighed in exasperation as the two men suddenly lit up and flew into each other's faces, just as Rick stepped into the fray to shove them apart.

"Enough! Okay, just calm down!"

The moment Rick's voice sounded between them Shane seemed to redirect his anger, turning on his so-called "best friend" in a heartbeat.

His ever-animated hand flew into the air again, this time towards Daryl as the man began to laugh sarcastically,

"Man, look at you! Ya seriously gonna stand here and tell me it's a _good idea_ to let an infected, half-dead _geek_ give Carol here shooting lessons? Just let em' stand out here and waste precious ammo, run the risk of bringin' another herd on top of us, just so you can make Daryl feel like he's still _human_?"

Carol reached out again to grasp Daryl's arms from the behind, felt the muscles beneath her palms coiling as his hands fisted. She tightened her grip, and his icy eyes met hers as he turned his head to look back at her.

Shane jerked away as Rick moved to direct him back towards the loft, shotgun rising into the air along with his free hand,

"It's a joke, Rick. Lettin' him run free in our camp. Lettin' him put us all in danger. And it's on _you_ when something goes down."

Daryl didn't move as the man's black eyes landed on him before he turned and stomped away, but Carol could still feel his entire body screaming silently in her grasp.

As Rick glanced their way, a desperate irritation in his gaze, he and Daryl exchanged curt nods before their leader broke back out into the field to follow his enraged friend.

She stood in the grass and kept hold of Daryl as he continued to heave in breaths, every shaky exhale coming out longer and calmer. The weight of the rifle now hanging on her back was lost as she watched him duck his head slowly, bringing a hand up to slide across his forehead.

His fingers paused to rub into his temples.

When he moved to look back at her again, the grey in his eyes seemed duller than ever.


	12. The Desperate Edge

**A small update; sorry it's short!  
**

**This one was a bit...difficult to write.**

**My scrambled muses aren't helping, either. **

**I hope you enjoy nonetheless!**

* * *

_She was a shadow over his body, slithering up it like a damn cat slinking into an alley. Her fingers were warm when they ghosted across his belly, and Daryl jerked, surprised she had the gall to even come calling to him this way, much less shove her hand under his shirt without so much as a "hello". _

_But something in her eyes told him not to respond, not to speak…or he would regret it. On any other day, in any other moment, with any other person, he'd take such a warning as a challenge, and practically spit fire to send them running._

_Not with Carol._

_Not tonight._

_She told him without words _not to fucking move_._

_Daryl kept his hands frozen at his sides as she loomed over, casting them into darkness, and she leaned in, breath hot and wet against his mouth—_

* * *

Gunfire.

It shattered the dead-like sleep like an atomic explosion, sending acidic waves of panic rushing through his veins. His muscles tightened up, his pulse went haywire, and his fists clenched as he jerked full-body into the blackness around him, sucking in a shocked gasp of the cool night air and flying upward to find the source of the sound.

The first thing he noticed was that his ears were ringing sharply. The shot had been close. Very close.

He looked up.

The shot had been damn near _at_ him.

"Daryl…" The moment her voice leaked through the eerie jingling in his ears he felt her hand on his shoulder, but he did not turn to look at her.

He was too busy staring down at his feet.

Where a bleeding Shane laid face-first, gasping against the dirt…

Dying.

"The _hell_ just happened?"

Everything seemed to slow down, the noises around him entering his ears one at a time: Carl, nearby, whispering a hesitant "Mom" as Lori shushed him. Her own breathing sounded shaky, heavy, shocked. Glenn whispering "_Don't. _Stay out of it." to someone, and with the sigh that followed he could guess that someone was Andrea. The slow click of metal just behind him; Daryl looked down and back to find Carol putting the safety back on a pistol, head down and lips thin. For a moment, he blinked at her, ready to question if it was _she _who had sent Shane gargling his own blood in the dirt but—

A pained whine had him jerking his head upward for the first time to find Rick standing nearby, basked in the dim beam of Dale's flashlight, Python wavering in one hand as he raised the other to his face to dig the heel of his palm into his forehead.

"_Rick_. What—?"

The squeeze of Carol's hand on his shoulder stopped him, and for the first time he really looked at her as she raised her head, meeting his eyes.

Hers were wet, dilated, but unafraid. Resolute.

"Shane had watch. You were mumblin' in your sleep, jerking…snapping your teeth together; it woke me up. I saw…Shane was going to _kill_ you, Daryl…"She trailed, leaving the rest to his imagination. He reached up to pull her hand off his shoulder, tearing his gaze from her own as the sound of Shane's desperate choking suddenly and disturbingly quieted.

* * *

When he walked away from the camp that night, nobody stopped him.

Dawn found him ass-first against the fence far across the field, staring at the hay loft as the group carried Shane's body in the opposite direction, shovels in hand, heads bowed and movements hesitant.

He could make out Rick ahead of them, leading the way, and the man's body was as rigid and awkward as if he'd been convulsing in Walker-fits himself all night. The others trailed far enough behind for Daryl to know what they were thinking.

They watched Rick's back carefully, pondering his actions.

Questioning.

Daryl spit dryly at the ground beneath his feet and heaved himself up as Carol came treading the grass towards him. He started forward and met her halfway, found her eyes narrowing in concern at him as she approached.

She crossed her arms, looked back at the retreating group before sighing heavily through her nose.

Daryl tried to focus on her face, tried to ignore the chill that ran down his spine as the image of her leaning over his sleeping form, gun in hand, ready to shoot Shane down with a coldness he'd never seen in her before tickled his brain and blurred his vision.

She opened her mouth to speak.

He interrupted her.

"If Rick hadn't…?"

Carol tilted her head, lips pale and thin, body acting as if she wanted to step closer and touch him, but she was holding herself back. Daryl watched her fingers twitch against her arms and his brain picked the wrong damn time to recall the dream he'd had, had him realizing with a sudden shocked shudder that he _wanted_ her to take that last step and reach a hand out…

"_I would have_."

He nearly choked on spit at Carol's bold declaration. Her answer was clear, lacking in regret. She was serious.

Daryl bent his head down to stare at the grass beneath his feet as a tiny twinge in his temples had him willing away a headache. He sucked in a deep gulp of cool air, exhaled to watch his breath puff out white.

He looked back up to find Carol's eyes boring into him, her chest rising and falling heavily as the sun made an attempt to light the horizon behind her. Daryl was no fool. She was upset by what had happened to Shane.

But she still would've killed him.

With a grimace he tore his gaze from her face and started forward, brushing past her to tuck away in the RV near the loft.

He didn't care if it made him look like a brat, or a damn pussy…

He had to get away, had to escape her eyes.

The image of Carol raising a gun to defend his inhuman ass followed him with every step.


End file.
